


Too Close To The Sun - HIATUS

by ToMarsAndBeyond3



Series: Red! Verse [1]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Blame Priest, Brutal Murder, I love the rowdy dirk idea and I wanted to do something with it, Interdimensional Travel, M/M, Mostly from Priest, Rowdy! Dirk au, Trans! Dirk, Trans! Martin, these boys need a break, tw: transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-04-27 07:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14420760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToMarsAndBeyond3/pseuds/ToMarsAndBeyond3
Summary: Dirk Gently and Red are one and the same, with one stark difference: one is rowdy, one is not. When the fabric between realities is torn open by five young Blackwing escapees, Dirk Gently must face the fears he has always held close to his heart, along with the harsh lesson that people aren’t always what they seem. Everything is chance, and nothing is set in stone.





	1. A Dreary Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> The Rowdy Dirk AU is pretty simple. In Blackwing, Dirk was thrown to the Rowdies to feed on; but instead of traumatizing the small boy, they decided they weren't going to become that, and end up taking him with them instead.
> 
> Blackwing is still chasing them, but nearly out of funding. It's been two years since the breakout.
> 
> Ages:
> 
> Dirk/Red - 18  
> Vogel - 12  
> Cross - 27  
> Gripps - 28  
> Martin - 29

The melodic, uniform pattern of the rain on the pavement was broken only by the clap of not one, but five pairs of feet, all in flight from an invisible evil. Men and children, boys and anarchists, they all had the same end goal in their frenzy. Get away. Protect your own. Hide.

The elder child, a boy with many names - though he currently went by Red - was leading the group. Or at least, that's how it seemed to the untrained eye. Anyone with any knowledge knew that, in fact, the child was only following a pattern set in front of him by the universe itself; a terrifying string that hooked to his arms and legs, pulling him forward to the place he needed to be. A place that could, with any luck, bring his friends to safety.

They stopped, all five of them, dead in their tracks as they turned into an alley. The only thing in front of them was an old brick wall, and the only thing behind them being untold, repeated horror from their past.

They were trapped.

Red was in shock; how could the universe do this? Were they really meant to go back to that place, that prison? He hit the wall with a hard smack in his frustration, some of the wall crumbling away at the blow. He brought the bat back once more, intending to strike even harder, but his hand was stopped by one of the others. An older man, his eyes bright and wild as he brought the weapon to a halt, stared down at the boy in determination.

“Save it for them bad dudes, Red.”

Red threw his arm down in a huff, diverting his gaze away from his friend. He just didn't understand; this couldn't he how it ended. There was something more, something he was missing.

Up where the brick had crumbled, Red's eye was caught in a strange rippling glimmer.

He stood on his toes, coming up to inspect it. It was nothing more than a shimmer in the broken crevice, the way you can see heat coming off the tops of cars in the hot summer air, but this was different. This was something entirely different; it called to him. He reached his hand up, brushing the gleam of the waves with his fingers.

There was a snap, and a shutter, and a bright glow.

Five had suddenly become four.

Cries, a chorus of his name, rang out in the dirty alleyway. The eldest of the group, a tall man with white hair and a fire in his eyes, stepped forward. There was a small child on his back, clinging to him as he leaned to the side to search the air. The man took a deep breath in, waiting, and then his head snapped backwards.

“Boys!”

There was one, two, and four bright flashes as the alleyway emptied, leaving only a discarded bat in its wake. And there was a moment, a quiet, peaceful moment, where everything was once again calm.

Then Agent Osmund Priest poked his head around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Here we are again! A new story! Here's to hoping I finish it!


	2. I Didn't Know Vampires Could Teleport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk Gently and Co. go out on an ice cream binge, only to be sidetracked by the universe.

“Hurry up, Todd! They’re going to run out if we don’t hurry up!” 

Dirk Gently was running ahead of his friends, a skip in his step as he scurried down the street, the sidewalk hot enough to melt the cheap sandals that he’d stolen from Todd. He’d dragged them both out for the day, claiming that the universe demanded they go get ice cream. Todd, of course, hadn’t believed it; neither had Farah. But Dirk got so happy when ice cream was involved, who were they to deny him? The man got such little happiness sometimes.

Todd dragged himself down after Dirk, the bright sun searing his bare arms; it was much too hot outside. Todd found himself wondering if they couldn’t have just used the ice cream they keep around the office instead. Nevertheless, he followed after Dirk.

He would always follow Dirk.

“They won’t run out.” Farah caught up from behind, shoving her phone into her pocket. From the look on her face, and the flush on her cheeks, she’d been talking to either Tina or Amanda. “You’re the only one who eats that flavour, Dirk.”

“Well, that’s just a shame.” Dirk flipped around, walking backward so that he could face them both. “Lavender is a brilliant flavour.”

“Yeah, for a flower.” Todd scrunched up his nose.

Personally, he hated that flavour. He thought it tasted like sandpaper, mixed with actual sand. But Dirk loved it, and really if that was the case, Todd could get behind it. He would never admit that to Dirk, though.

“I’ll have you know, Lavenders are edible.” Dirk nodded at them, putting on his serious face. Of course, this only made Todd and Farah smile. “There are many, many edible plants. I ate many when I was a child- you’d be surprised what you can find in the desert!”

“Do we want to know why you were eating plants in the desert?” Farah raised an eyebrow, and Todd could see a hint of something there. Dirk often mentioned strange, worrisome things from his past, and it drove both Todd and Farah crazy to no end, making sure he was okay. The worst part was, Dirk never seemed to be bothered by most of the things he said.

“Probably not.” Dirk shrugged. 

Farah sighed; Todd could relate.

They continued to walk, Dirk quickly changing the subject onto llamas. Todd followed his thought process with ease, even with enthusiasm. He didn’t want Dirk to think about the horrors of his past, of course; no, it was better to move on. From llamas, they moved onto foxes, worms, and then finally, fireflies.

Talking fireflies, to be precise.

“And then, I said to them, ‘you can’t arrest me, Mrs. Jensen, the culprit is literally in this jar’! But of course, she didn’t believe me. I mean, I would believe me, but I feel I’m a bit biased.” Dirk waved his hands wildly, trying to illustrate his point. “Anyway, so I threw the jar into the wall. Glass, everywhere. It was a scene worthy of The Rowdy Three, because then the firefly, I called him Sal, he multiplied, and-”

Dirk stopped in his tracks, going silent. Todd’s brain didn’t catch up on time, like most other occurrences, and even though he saw Dirk stop, he ran right into him. Farah was already ahead of both of them, her hand poised on her belt. They knew the face Dirk was making, and it was never good.

He had a hunch.

Dirk opened his mouth and then closed it again. He seemed to be at a loss for what to say. Trying again, his mouth snapped shut with a frustrated expression. After a quiet, tense moment of consideration, Dirk took a sharp right into an alleyway.

“Dirk!” Todd called after him, balancing on his toes as he tried to decide what to do. Should he go after him? Dirk could get into serious trouble if he goes off on a hunch alone…

Well, that made up his mind.

With a glance back at Farah, he nodded, and they both tore down after him.

They found Dirk kneeling on the ground in the dead end of the alleyway, frowning. He was staring at the brick wall, deep in thought; and to be honest, he didn’t seem to really know what he was thinking about. He let out a quiet huff of frustration as Farah and Todd approached.

“Dirk?” Farah raised her voice, questioning with a soft sort of intensity. “Are you okay?”

“There’s something down here.” Came Dirk’s reply, which of course only made Todd and Farah that much more worried. Todd took a step forward; maybe if he just could get past the wall that Dirk put up everytime he got a hunch, they could get out of this broken alleyway.

“Dirk?” Todd took another step forward, his hand brushing Dirk’s arm, and then his shoulder. That was one thing Dirk loved, contact. He seemed to be starved for it. “Hey. Do you think there’s something going on? Like-”

“A case?” Farah interjected. Dirk shook his head.

“Not quite.” His voice was strangely quiet, not at all like his usual self. “It feels more… personal. I don’t- I haven’t, any clue.”

“That’s okay.” Todd nodded, rubbing his shoulder lightly, sending signals of reassurance to him. “You, take your time to figure it out. There’s no time limit.”

“I would hope.” Dirk’s voice was a bit stronger this time. With a sigh, he turned to them both, his expression fallen and crumbled away. Even so, he did his best to built it back up.

He often got like this when he couldn’t figure something out. Upset, closed off, and just a little bit jumpy. It wasn’t difficult to figure out why, even if no one knew much about it.

Blackwing.

“Well.” Dirk tried for a smile. “I suppose it was nothing. Maybe we could-”

Dirk’s words were drowned out by a loud crack as the wall behind them split apart, a bright white, blinding light pouring out. The three of them tumbled backward, tripping over their own feet in an attempt to stay upright. As the light faded back to the harsh assault of the sun above, Todd blinked and then frowned.

“Uh, hello?” Todd’s frowned only deepened as he stared at the figures in front of them.

There were four of them, every one of them looking young, wild, and just a bit dangerous. The eldest had long, bleached blonde hair that came down just to his eyes, which pierced into Todd. On his back was the smallest child Todd had ever seen, all elbows and an uncontrollable air, hanging off of him. Then there was the one crouched on the ground, frowning up at them through his dark hair, even longer than the blonde. The last one, all flannel and ripped jeans that barely held together, had tilted his head to look at them.

They all looked sickeningly familiar.

“Oh.” Dirk was on the ground, his legs splayed out in front of him. He stared up at the newcomers, his eyes wide in recognition and surprise. “Oh! Oh, this is… something. Impossible, but something. Probably something bad.”

Dirk shook his head quickly, blinking as he continued to stare up. Slowly, Farah took a step forward, her hand never straying from her belt.

“Do you know these guys, Dirk?” She spoke softly over to him, but in the narrow alley, the sound carried flawlessly. Dirk nodded; how on earth could he know them?

“In a sense.” If Dirk was anyone else, he would have been described as being at a loss for words. But Dirk always had something to say. Dirk jumped to his feet, sticking his hand out to the eldest blonde. “The Rowdy Three! From when I was young. Which, really, is a little bit alarming because this isn't how time works, but I do love the possibility of a new case! I am much too bored. Hello, Martin.”

The young man, Martin apparently, stared down at Dirk’s hand. Todd was sure that his haze was going to burn a hole in Dirk’s skin. Martin moved his gaze up, traveling up his body to meet Dirk’s smile.

“You seen a redhead?” Martin’s voice made Todd jump. It wasn’t the gravelly, commanding voice he usually heard. It was distinctly younger and flowed much smoother. Dirk frowned at him, cocking his head to the side.

“Well, I see a lot of redheads every day. Including myself. Are you looking for anyone in particular?”

Todd could barely believe, much less process what had happened. How was Dirk keeping his cool?

“You know Red?!” The boy from Martin’s back, who Todd could only assume was Vogel, velled in a high pitched voice, a bright smile on his face. Dirk’s frown only deepened.

“Again, I know a lot of redheads-”

“Mean the boy,” Cross spoke up, partly glaring at Dirk. Dirk’s eyes widened as he looked around..

“The boy? You’re looking for a boy?” Dirk pursed his lips; Todd was along the same line of thinking that he was. “Oh, I am getting some very strong, whatever that word is. Farah, what’s the-”

“Deja-vu.”

“Right! Yes! That!” Dirk clapped his hands together, and he looked giddier than he had in days. “Well, I can’t say we have. But you have come to exactly the right place! I just so happen to be a detective. A, holistic detective. Holistic refers to-”

“All that connected stuff.” Martin cut in, an odd expression crossing his face as he stared at Dirk. “‘S what Red is.”

“He’s holistic?” Dirk’s face got, if it was possible, even more bright as he shook his hands in pure glee. “Oh, that’s fantastic! So you know exactly what I’m talking about, this makes things much easier!”

“Dirk.” Todd tried to stop the flow of the conversation. He knew where this was going, and he really didn’t want to be mixed up in it. It was no use however. Dirk ignored him as if he hadn’t even heard him, a hungry look in his eye as he looked at the young Rowdies in front of them.

Martin caught Dirk’s eye, and there was a long, silent moment where they stared at each other.

Then Martin nodded.

“He’s takin’ the case, boys,” Martin called to his brothers. The others smiled, a strange, maniac energy bouncing through the alleyway.

“Heck yeah!”

“Gingerbread man’s fixing it!”

“Yay!”

“Dirk, no!” Farah threw her head back in exasperation. “We can’t take another case!”

“Nonsense Farah, I just did.” Dirk laughed as he turned on his heels to face Farah and Todd, who were still trying to catch up with what just happened. “Call Amanda. Tell her we have, these people. I’m sure they’d want to know.”

Todd shook his head. There was no way they could go through with this.

“But-”

“Ah!” Dirk pointed at Todd. “Amanda.”

Todd groaned; he hated when Dirk did that. But Dirk was his boss, technically, and this was work-related.

Oh fine, he’d call his sister. But this was way above his pay grade. Pulling out his phone, he swiped through his short, almost sad contact list to find his sister’s number.

He was starting to miss the ice cream plan.


	3. Daedalus and Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda froze as the electricity hit her skin, and for a moment she thought she was having an attack. But this was different than usual. The light tickle of static against her skin, sending her hair standing up and causing goosebumps to rise as something not quite discernible to the human senses flashed through their camp. Now even Beast, who was usually more in tune than the others, was up on her feet; but she was looking in a different direction than everyone else.

“What do you mean rowdy? They're right here.” 

Amanda was having the most insane phone call of her life, her brother having called with news of a new case. He didn’t call often, and really it was justified. They only talked on occasion, and if they were really meant to help with a case, the universe would lead them to it. So phone calls were a rare occasion, substituted usually by texts telling of the crazy shit hey were getting into.

Apparently, they’d gotten on a new case, this time involving time travel. Or interdimensional travel. It wasn’t very clear.

“I mean we have Rowdies in our agency that are like, sixteen years younger than the guys we know.” Todd sounded completely exasperated on his end as he spoke over the noise in the background. “Look, I know you guys are busy like, smashing, or whatever. But please come down?”

“This is insane.” Amanda groaned, making eye contact with Gripps as he braided flowers into Vogel’s hair. Vogel had grown to love the look after Wendimoor, so he almost always wore a flower somewhere on his body. “Look, fine, just. Don’t die, okay?”

“I’m trying.” Todd’s voice came out strained. “You too, sis.”

“Right.”

Amanda hung up her phone, tossing it to the side through the van doors, the phone landing with a loud clunk on the metal floors. She groaned, leaning against the spray-painted side, and threw her head back. Why did they have to do this now?

“Something wrong, Boss?” Vogel frowned over at Amanda, who in turn glanced down. Vogel’s eyes were wide, and she cursed any god that was listening that she was so soft as he relaxed her tense shoulders.

“Yeah man, we just gotta help Dirk on a case.” Amanda leaned forward to pat Vogel on the shoulder. “They found some cool stuff for us.”

“Like what?” Cross approached with Martin as they walked back into camp, a bag of candy and other such snacks in his hands. “What’s happening?”

“It’s weird.” Amanda threw Martin a look before reaching into Cross’ bag, pulling out a pack os skittles. “Like, it’s you guys, but from forever ago. Like Vogel is apparently super small.”

“Not small anymore!” Vogel puffed out his chest, his face full of pride. A faint laugh painter her lips, and she nodded.

“Hell yeah, man.” After a quick high five, she sighed, turning back to face everyone. “Look, I don’t know. But it sounds weird. Can we just check it out?”

“You’re in charge, Drummer.” Martin patted her back, making a gesture with his hand for everyone to pile into the van.

Oh, right. Amanda kept forgetting. Six months and she still couldn’t get used to it. How could anyone ever leave her in charge of anything; she didn’t think she was very good at it at all. But her boys hadn’t died yet, so that had to count for something. Amanda nodded, exhaling, and hit the side of the van with her fist.

“Beast! Car ride!”

Beast’s head poked out from the roof of the van, and in a moment, she’d jumped down to land in the middle of their circle.

“Carmide! Carmide excite!” Beast smiled at all of them, and Cross laughed, reaching to mess with her hair.

“Yeah Rainbow.” Cross shook his head, a wide grin on his face. “Car ride-”

Cross froze, a frown blooming across his face like watercolors as his body tensed up. Amanda went to ask what was wrong, but then noticed that Gripps, Vogel, and Martin had done the same exact thing as Cross.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Amanda took a step closer to Martin, something between concern and excitement in her chest as all her boys stopped to look around, their noses catching something Amanda couldn’t pick up. Martin put his hand out, his eyes traveling up to the canopy of trees above their clearing.

“Somethin’s up.” Martin rumbled, his gaze flitting faster than usual at the trees. 

“Some universe shit!” Gripps had risen to his feet, the same hysterical look on his face as was growing on the others. 

Amanda froze as the electricity hit her skin, and for a moment she thought she was having an attack. But this was different than usual. The light tickle of static against her skin, sending her hair standing up and causing goosebumps to rise as something not quite discernible to the human senses flashed through their camp. Now even Beast, who was usually more in tune than the others, was up on her feet; but she was looking in a different direction than everyone else.

“Tinaboy!” Beast screeched, pointing to somewhere in the treeline out of the range of sight of the others. “Tinaboy!”

Amanda frowned, twisting on her feet to investigate what had Beast so worked up. Beast was excitable, yes, but now she seemed like she was going to pass out in glee. The rest of the boys turned as well, unrest growing between them quicker than it could between most. Amanda stepped forward, and-

A small, dirty, red-haired boy fell out of the treeline.

Saying he was dirty, that didn’t just mean dirt wise, which he certainly was. But as a flash of light traveled through camp, sending the boy rolling onto the ground, it became quickly apparent that in this case, dirty was meant more in a sense of punk; with ripped jeans, an obsessively bright yellow flannel, and a skull undershirt that was almost tacky, he looked like someone who had walked off of a page of a book.

He almost looked normal, except for the distinct shape of a familiar tattoo on his wrist.

Amanda had seen that tattoo before; she’s seen it on all of her boys. They each had one, though theirs was on their collar bones, marking their designations as projects from Operation Blackwing. Theirs looked different from this kid’s, though. No, the tattoo on this boy’s wrist was exactly like Dirk’s.

The boy’s head, sopping wet from an invisible rain, shot up, and his eyes pierced through the group. Amanda opened her mouth, but wasn’t sure what to say. What were you even supposed to say to something like this?

The answer, apparently, was something that Martin knew better than her.

“Who are ‘ya?” Martin’s voice rumbled through the distance between him and the boy, and sure enough, the boy’s face lit up in surprise. Not _oh no that man is terrifying_ surprise, but more of a _what do you mean you don’t recognize me_ type of thing. The boy jumped onto his feet, frowning at Martin with a sad glare in his eyes.

“Well you’re much older than Martin.” The boy said, looking Martin up and down. “Or at least my Martin, mine is much cooler. But that doesn’t make sense of course because there’s only one of me, and one of you- oh! Maybe, I’ve time traveled- or even better! Interdimensionally! Though that one seems a bit far-fetched, I mean, dimensions, that’s just silly.”

All six of The Rowdy Three stared, dumbstruck. Even Vogel didn’t know what to say; Amanda was sure he didn’t even know what was going on, because she sure didn’t. The boy smiled at them for a moment before a look of realization hit his face, and he jumped forward with his hand outstretched, smiling even wider.

“So sorry! My name’s Red. I’m a detective!” The boy’s face was lit up like a christmas tree as he held his hand out to Martin. “Not meaning to intrude, but I think I’ve stumbled onto a case by accident. Which is a bit worrying because I don’t have my bat with me, and that’s my very special case bat because everyone knows you can’t get by without absolutely shattering quite a few things, some in good fun, but-”

“Red?” Martin was frowning, his expression going from intimidating to plain old confused. His eyes traveled down to the tattoo on Red’s wrist, and his frown only deepened. “Icarus?”

“Hey!” The boy’s smile fell away, leaving what even Amanda, who unlike the others had no supernatural empath abilities, could tell was straight up annoyance. “That’s rude!”

“Alright, hey.” Amanda stepped forward with her hands up, deciding that the one thing she didn’t need today was a pissy teenager. “He didn't mean to man. Do you like, need something, or?”

Red huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, and his high pitched voice rang out into the clearing as he glanced over at Amanda.

“I think I would much rather find my friends. The real ones, not you lot who look like cheap knockoffs.” Red didn’t seem to be able to hold a glare, but he was trying. “It is very hard to finish cases without them, and seeing as they were just with me, I can hope they’re somewhere here as well.”

“Friends.” Did he mean those apparently, other Rowdies that Todd and his own friends had found? “Uh, is one of them like, super short? Rides on people’s back? Really loud?”

“Vogel!” Red snapped his fingers, his face relaxing back into its happy expression. The actual Vogel looked over in charged excitement, bouncing ever so slightly on his feet. He looked to his brothers for a clue on what to do, and Cross just shrugged, while Gripps gave a thumbs up.

“Well.” Amanda nodded at Red, trying to make him realize she was taking him seriously. “My brother might have found them. So if you want to come along, we can take you back to your… friends.”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Red raised his eyebrow.

Well, this version of Dirk was much more confident than the real Dirk, that much was obvious. Why was he so hard to convince? Their Dirk would already have jumped on board. It was positively exhausting, but in a pleasant, lively way. A Rowdy if Amanda had ever seen one, which made her just anxious to find out more.

“Well, you don’t.” Amanda shrugged, lowering down into a crouch to meet the eyes of Red. “But you know, we’re Rowdies too. And we can go break shit on the way.”

That got Red’s attention. The suspicion on his face fell away ever so slightly, an encouraging sign. The other Rowdies must have felt it, or maybe seen it too, because they joined in.

“Hell yeah.”

“Yeah man!”

“Yup!”

“All that shit!”

“Bake! Bake!”

Red didn’t look like he could help himself from laughing, more quiet than anything, but still a distinct laugh. Amanda nodded, a smirk growing on her face. A rowdy kid; that should be an easy task. After all, she took care of Vogel. She stood, extending her hand out to the boy, and waited.

“Wanna?” She raised an eyebrow. Red glanced at her hand, and then over to his own palm. Watching him, Amanda noticed the start of an unmistakable scar running down the middle his chest, probably going down his stomach too. She frowned, but there wasn’t any time to mull over it.

“That sounds cool.” Red took her hand. “But don’t try anything senseless.”

Amanda made a mental note to call her brother.

This case was going to get meta, and pretty damn fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we've found out what happened to Red! The next chapter is going to be... very interesting, about some rather interesting people. So stay tuned, and I hope you liked it :)


	4. Project Duende

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Blackwing on the verge of closing, their funds and projects gone, Agent Priest concocts a plan to save their jobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Mentions of violence, transphobia.

_Ain't nobody gonna move me._

Agent Osmund Priest sits cross-legged in front of a crumbled brick wall, his head tilted ever so slightly as he stares. The crack in the wall has a faint glow to it, a soft blue that almost reminds him of the energy drawn from folks by Project Incubus. The longer he watches the flickering aura, the more he thought of a very particular Incubus member; it only ignited his passion to recapture and imprison them all. With any luck, there would even be a bit of torture.

Maybe he could even find their pet Icarus in the process. That would be something, wouldn't it? Little girl Icarus, all scared and useless and back in Blackwing.

Priest sorely missed being able to taunt them all.

“Agent Priest.”

Osmond sighed, a slight smile playing on his lips. He didn't have to turn around to know the voice, and as it rung in his ears, his prospects for the upcoming week only grew. No one ever talked to him unless they needed something; and right now, what they needed was a win.

“Scott.” Osmund turned his head ever so slightly, just meeting the old man's gaze. He was so far out of his prime already, even with his youth still abundant. While Osmund… he could still fell a room in a matter of minutes. Riggins sighed, his troubled eyes glancing up at the crack in the wall.

“Have we uh, gotten, anymore readings?” He gestured over to the wall.

Priest turned his gaze over to his own men, who were messing with the so called equipment. That sort of thing was no use here. Osmond knew what needed to be done; it was just a matter of convincing Riggins. Which, with his increasing desperation, wouldn't be that hard.

“Their readin’s ain't nothin’. Priest gave a cold, harsh laugh; he could see Riggins shiver. “Now, if you need results, I might be able to help.”

“No. No.” Riggins shook his head, closing his eyes. “Priest-”

“Now if I remember correctly, this whole operation’s ‘bout to fall apart. And I ain't loosin’ my job.” Priest rose slowly, his face inches from Riggins’. “But if you were to send in a team, to go catch your subjects. Well, you might be into somthin’.”

“Osmund-"

“What's your plan? Let ‘em all run wild? Let this little freaks ruin whatever the hell they want-”

“Project Duende, you watch your tone!” Riggins raised his voice, a rare for in his eyes. Silly man, so attached to those inhuman things.

An attachment, that was understandable. Riggins was a soft man, Priest had seen it coming. But what Osmund had a problem with was the fact that Riggins thought he had a right to address him by that name. A low growl rose in Oz’s throat, causing Riggins to take a few steps backwards in fear.

“Prie- Agent Priest, calm down.” Riggins raised his hands in a meager defense, earning another laugh from Osmund.

“This _agent_ is takin’ his team in there. And we'll find them.” As Osmund pushed past, he made sure to hit Riggins as hard as he could in the shoulder. Then he paused, a horrible smile playing on his lips as he turned back around.

“Dead or alive.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Donetello, Missouri, and Sanchez. That was Priest's special operations team, and there were no better men and women to take on an interdimensional mission.

Donetello was the technical agent, or as Priest liked to say, a useless goddamned nerd. He was in charge of the technical aspects of their missions, paperwork and their silly mission objective. Priest hated him, and perhaps Donetello knew that, because he tried his best not to anger Osmund.

Missouri was a more hands on agent, formerly known as Project Hodur. She could bring blindness to anyone she touched, and the effects could last up to a few hours at the most. She was perhaps the youngest of them all, and it was because of that and her drive to please Blackwing that he had taken a liking to her.

Sanchez was a fairly simple person when it came down to it, an agent assigned to the mission by Riggins to keep an eye on Priest. Osmund would have liked to be rid of her, but firing her, or terminating her life, was strictly forbidden on Priest's part. So he had to put up with her, even if he wanted to grab her by the jaw and pull, until her head popped off like a little toy.

Now, Priest listened to their banter, scowling at the laughter and good spirits. They were young, and until now had only ever hunted down older subjects. Never before had they cornered a child, watching the delicious fear in their eyes grow as they pressed a knife into their neck, threatening. They hadn't listened to the crying, the begging of a child barely older than six scream at them to leave. They'd never seen the light leave their eyes, their head slip off their neck and onto the ground in a bloody mess; they'd never heard Priest's _laughter_...

Osmund took a deep breath.

He had to bring back at least one subject alive. Otherwise, Blackwing would lose funding, and they'd be shut down.

They couldn't have that.

Osmund slammed the butt of his rifle onto the weak surface of the folding table, the loud bang echoing through the tent. All three agents jumped, Donetello even dropping his own rifle on the ground as the laughter died down.

“Sir.” He stood straight, pushing his unkempt, maroon hair out of his eyes. “We, didn't see you there.”

“I bet.” Osmund gave them a cold smile, his eyes still stuck in the same emotionless trance. “Maybe I should announce my presence next time. I got a lotta bullets in this gun here, shame to waste ‘em.”

“That- That isn't, necessary, Sir.” Donetello put his head down, avoiding Priest's eyes. “We'll work harder, next time.”

Missouri traded glances with the silenced agent, and in their eyes Priest could see that they knew he wasn't bluffing. They were smarter than to think Priest wouldn't act on his threats, and they all had the scars to prove it.

All of them, except for Sanchez.

Sanchez was readily ignoring Osmund, opting instead to continue reassembling her rifle. Osmund wanted to slap her, shoot her, to dig a knife into the bullet wound for such disrespect on her part. But Riggins would have his head.

Fortunately, Riggins wouldn't be there once they stepped foot through that rip in time and space.

“Now.” Priest set his rifle down, resting his palms on the surface of the weak table. “This ain't no normal mission. This here is a special operation, if you will. We fail, and you're out of a job.”

 _And in some cases,_ Priest thought as he glanced at Missouri. _A life._

“Chasing projects, right?” Missouri raised an eyebrow at him. “Not that hard.”

Priest smiled.

“We only need, at least one. Could be an Incubus member, could be Icarus. But what I want-” _I want my sister to suffer._ “The oldest member of Project Incubus. To do that, we need to grab one of the younger kids. Lure her in.”

“Excuse me Sir, but-” Donetello’s voice stumbled over his words. “We changed Incubus One's gender, marker, years ago. He-”

“I happen to know her personally, Marcus.” Priest's glare was filled with a freezing fire. “I happen to know it mighty pisses her off. I call Martha what I like.”

Martha Priest.

Osmund was thing to have her head.

“If you say so, Sir.” Donetello knew better than to push an argument with Priest, and his voice trailed off into the air.

There was a snap throughout the tent, and Sanchez sighed as she finished with her gun.

“We have to go now, Agent Priest. Before the lads above us gone and change their minds.” She said, her lilting accent sending a terrifyingly angry fire through Osmund’s veins. Sweet little Scottish girl, the bane of his existence.

She'd learn.

“Damn right.” Priest lifted his rifle from the table, weighing the comfortable weapon in his hand. “Let's go and have some fun.”

As Priest stared at the glowing crack through the tent flap, be could hear the call of the universe. But he was smarter, he could interpret it's follow whatever signs he wanted, to find whoever he deemed worth his time. Even if the universe didn't like it.

Well, it was just going to have to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Priest is fun to write. Priest's transphobia is... something. I'm trans myself, so it's a bit uncomfortable to write. But anyway. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! We're gong back to spy on the young Rowdies and agency next!


	5. Warming Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I changed the ending so I'm not aure hoe many chapters there will be. But it WILL be finished!
> 
>  
> 
> The gang takes a trip to the store.

“What do you mean they found Dirk?!” Todd was leaning against the desk, his palms flat on the cold surface as he stared incredulously at Farah. This was insane. This was more than insane. It was worse than any case they had before.

“I mean they found Dirk, Todd. A small Dirk. Kid Dirk.” Farah looked up from her search through the drawers, only to throw an exasperated look at Todd. “They said he's, weird.”

“Dirk is always weird.”

Todd rolled his eyes, frowning. Dirk was currently out in the waiting room, trying to entertain the Rowdies. Usually it wouldn't work, and they would just feed off of him and leave. But these guys seemed to have an almost respect for Dirk; they treated him like he was part of their circle. Which terrified Dirk to no end.

“Yeah, but I mean Rowdy weird.” Farah raised an eyebrow, throwing an empty bag onto the table. 

“As in, part of the Rowdies? Like the, kid, the guys outside are looking for?” Todd’s eyes widened, leaning forward. Dirk would never do something like that, it just wasn't him.

Then again, personality is entirely based on how someone is raised; nurture over nature. And the Dirk in question, that Amanda gad apparently found, couldn't have been older than nineteen at the most. So it might have been possible. But what would a rowdy Dirk even be like? Could he even get more reckless than he already was?

“As in exactly like that.” Farah nodded. After another moment of searching through her bag, she screamed in frustration, throwing it onto the ground. “I swear to-”

“You okay!?”

Todd must have jumped at least two feet in the air as an excitable, high pitched voice sounded in the doorway. He spun on his heels, coming face to face with the smile of a little boy, perched on the shoulders of Cross.

Or rather, younger Cross.

“Uh, yeah.” Farah gave a slow nod, taking care to put herself in a more defensible position in front of the desk. It was doubtful the Rowdies - especially a twelve year old and a guy who barely looked in his twenties - would do anything. But this was Farah they were talking about, it was second nature to her to take precautions no matter what.

“You're frustration!” Vogel pointed over at her, a bouncing laugh bubbling up through his lips. “Smell it!”

“Bird’s right.” Cross nodded along, patting Vogel on the leg to encourage him. Even at a young age, they all worked together so well. Had the real Rowdies raised Vogel like this too? “Smell a lot of it. Okay?”

“Yeah. I'm fine. Just.” Farah gave a heavy sigh, finally putting her hands in her pockets. It was an impressive gesture, if you knew Farah. “I'm out of tampons. And someone forgot to buy more.”

“Why am I in charge of buying all the supplies for the office? Dirk can do it, can't he? You put me in charge of the paperwork.” Todd raised his hands, trying not to look put on the spot. He really had forgotten to buy necessities for everyone in the office, and it had been his turn to do so. 

Cross had lifted Vogel off his shoulders, placing him with a surprisingly careful air onto Todd’s desk. Todd had to stop himself from outright protesting; all his filing had just been flung down the drain, it was a mess! He'd stayed up all night to do that. Cross pulled something out of his pocket, tossing it over to Farah.

Farah, of course, was quick to catch it. She cast a suspicious glance in his direction, but he just gave a smile in return. If what the Rowdies did could be called a smile, that is. Glancing at what was in her hand, she frowned.

“Why do you have this?” She held up up. The suspicion was gone from her eyes, replaced instead with a look that was almost incredulous. Cross just shrugged, handing pencils to Vogel for him to break.

“Some boys there we know need them. Keep them around.” 

“Yes but, this is a tampon. Literally, an expensive one. I- why would want of you need them?” Farah raised an eyebrow, though Todd noted that she pocketed the product anyway. Todd was in the same boat as her here; why would they need it? Dirk carried some around ‘just in case’, but he assumed that was just because he cared about Farah.

“Marty needs it. Hormones still pretty early.” Cross was still nodding. He'd moved onto pens now, smiling wickedly as Vogel broke them. “Red too. Kid isn't on them yet.”

Hormones? What did that mean?

“Hormones. Like therapy? Replacement therapy?” Farah’s voice had a strange pitch to it, and she furrowed her brows in frustration. “Like, they are transgender? Martin and Dir- Red.”

Oh.

Wait, that couldn't be right. Was Todd’s versions of them trans too? But wouldn't Dirk have said something? Todd knew him pretty well; he was constantly staying over Todd’s house ‘because he was tired’. Which Todd didn't mind, but still. Todd would know, right? What reason would Dirk have not to come out to him about something like that?

But really, Todd decided it didn't matter. If Dirk was trans, then it was his own business. Todd didn't have a right to question it. Besides, it wasn't like it changed anything between them. Dirk was still… Amazing.

He was damn annoying, but still a wonder to be seen. 

Stupid pain in the ass.

“What's trans?” Vogel glanced up from his place on the desk, a litter of broken writing utensils scattered around him. “Can we break it?”

“Nah.” Cross moved to pat Vogel on the head, in a much more domestic move than either Todd or Farah were used to seeing. They were all so young. “That's what Red and Martin are all busy with. They're that all the way.”

“Cool!”

“You know, we do need supplies…” Farah had wandered off to the side, watching Dirk through the door. “Could have Dirk get some.”

“He can't go alone, he'll run into some sort of alien shit.” Todd was not keen on having Dirk run an errand on his own. It wasn't that he wasn't capable, but rather the fact that every time he did he ended up getting into trouble with one of too many Norse gods.

“Okay. He won't.” Farah flashed Todd a rare, snakelike smile.

Before Todd could respond, Farah had tossed a wad of cash in Cross’ direction, who caught it without effort. He frowned at the money in his hands before looking up at Farah, who still had that same smile on her face.

“Go get Vogel something… Whatever he likes. And bring Dirk, he need to get supplies.”

“Sure thing.”

“Farah!” Todd pulled on her arm as Cross carried Vogel out of the room, disbelief etching his features. “What the hell! Did you start hating Dirk and not tell me?!”

“He'll be fine.” Farah waved him off, pushing away in the direction of the bathroom. “This could be, good for him.”

“Oh my gods.” Todd mumbled, running his hands through his hair. “Oh my gods.”

Todd could hear the sounds of Dirk protesting out in the main room, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or not.

This was going to be a goddamn disaster.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Dirk didn't even have anything to say as he was dragged helplessly up the street, staring at the two in front of them. Cross was… odd. Not in the usual way, with aliens or time travel or talking holographic bricks. But in the fact that he was being nice to Dirk. Which, even with Amanda, didn't usually happen. Sure, the Rowdies tolerated him, and were polite in the ‘we'll only wreck your friend’s shit instead, sorry for terrorizing you for years’ kind of way. But these guys. These younger, absolutely maniac dopplegangers of the men Dirk knew, they treated him like Dirk was equal to them.

Vogel was currently running his mouth at everything and anything he saw, bouncing on his feet. Dirk wanted to guess that he could have been twelve, but his… intuition, wasn't very reliable. Though he had been getting better, surrounded by friends and family. He still royally sucked at it though.

Dirk had never thought about it before, but like him, Vogel had never been to school. He'd just always assumed the Rowdies taught him what he knows, but he hadn't actually ever dwelled on it long enough to form a solid opinion. Now, walking along the sidewalk, he watched as Cross took Vogel gently by the arm, pulling him closer to mutter about manners.

“Can't be doing that stuff here. We're guests. Gotta stay for awhile.” Cross said, mussing Vogel’s hair despite the boy’s protests. “Bet if you're good you can get a new pin.”

Vogel glanced down at his jacket, lavished with pins from every place on earth. Some were bright and colorful, unicorns and rainbows; And others were dark and brooding, most likely to match the Rowdy aesthetic. They all combined with his odd hairstyle and too-big jacket to create the image of a ratty, happy child.

It almost reminded Dirk of himself.

“Where’re we going!?” Vogel turned on his heels, walking backwards to look at Cross and Dirk. “Sun! Where’re we going!?”

Sun? Was Vogel trying to talk to the sun? He wasn't that little.

Cross simply just shook his head, pushing his hair out of his face. After a moment, he bent down in a quick movement, scooping Vogel up in his arms to let him crawl on his back.

“Were getting stuff, little bird!” Cross had a bright smile on his face, spinning in a cirlcle much to the delight of Vogel. “Not in charge though! That's Sun’s job, ‘kay? We're guests.”

“Guests.” Vogel repeated, punching the air as Cross continued to spin him in circles. “What's guests?!”

“When someone lets you stay.” Cross halted to a rather rough stop, facing Dirk. In another moment, he was throwing a clip of money in Dirk’s direction, who just barely caught it. “Gotta let someone be in charge when you're their guest. Only if they're nice. Of they're Blackwing, you break their nose in!”

Well, Dirk could agree with that. Not the violence part, of course, but rather the ‘don't trust a Blackwing agent’ part. Dirk wasn't much equipped as a human being for heavy violence; it wasn't how he'd grown. He'd grown up amidst running, fleeing from dangerous creatures, terrifying people, and sinister organizations. People tended not to hit him as much if he was nice to them instead.

But these guys, they kept talking about someone named Red. Who was that supposed to be? All the Rowdies - the younger Rowdies - were here. What did red stand for? Was it because of their hair? Was it their favorite color? Or blood? Was it Bart?

Dirk had no idea.

But what kind of case was this? It didn't feel like a normal case. No, this was different. Somehow, he felt that he already had all of the pieces of the puzzle; he just couldn't recognize them. Why were these guys here?

Why were they so nice to him?

A parallel universe. How intriguing.

Dirk wanted to ask a million-

“So Sun.” Cross glanced over at him, refraining from touching him. Djrk usually had to ask people to do that. “Wha’do you do? Your shit? You from that prison too?”

“Prison?” Dirk frowned. What did he-

Oh.

“Oh, well, yes.” Dirk nodded. “I'm-”

“That red kid, right?” Cross nodded. “Same nose. Little sun kid.”

Sun kid? Red?

Wait.

Oh.

That's who Red was. But that was impossible.

“So, this, Red. Who is he?” Dirk tipped his head, trying to keep a casual voice.

“Brother!” Vogel hit the air with his fist. “Red is the best!”

“Little Red’s like Martin. Do their shit together.” Cross finally stopped spinning, making sure Vogel didn't fall. “Picked him up at that bad place. Guys wanted us to feed on him.”

“Love him!” Vogel giggled again.

“But you, didn't?” Dirk was suspended in disbelief. In his, universe, the Rowdies had had no qualms about feeding on him. They apologized each time, but they'd still done it.

“Nope.” Cross shook his head. “Broke out. Grabbed him. Ran. Been running two years. Still got those bad guys on our tails.”

The bad guys? The agents? Was that why they were here?

“That's…” Dirk trailed off. “I, didn't have that. You guys, the you from here, used to chase me around. Actually very terrifying.”

“Well that's-” Cross paused, glancing up at Vogel. “That sucks.”

“Yes well. We're older now. They don't bother me anymore.” 

But Dirk was starting to have second thoughts on his views of the Rowdies. He'd always seen them as a force not to be reckoned with. A hurricane that was meant to keep his life in even more havoc than it already was. Honestly, he could have said that they hated him and not have much evidence for otherwise.

But these guys were… nice. In their own weird way. They had accepted Dirk almost instantly, and treated him like he was one of them. They were a family. They kept each other star, helped raise Vogel, supported one another. Dirk hadn't had that more most of his life.

Maybe he'd been wrong to dismiss them so quickly in his youth.

Dirk grinded to a halt as he realised they were in front of the store they'd been heading to. Cross noticed after only a few seconds,carrying himself and Vogel over to where Dirk was standing.

“Alright.” Dirk nodded, pulling the money clip out of the pocket of his lime green jacket. “We need to-”

“Shh.” Cross put his hand to his lips. His eyes had dilated, and he was slowly searching the area around them. “Smell that?”

“Um.” Dirk frowned. What was he supposed to smell? “No?”

Cross grunted, lifting Vogel off his shoulders to set him on the ground. Maybe it was some sort of signal, because as soon as Vogel’s feet hit the ground, he'd started running. Dirk let out a quiet yelp, chasing after him as they - all three of them - weaved through the crowds to follow the small child. Vogel finally ducked under the arm of what appeared to be a staff member on his break, and disappeared into an alleyway.

Cross appeared in front of Dirk, holding what looked like a broken off piece of a wooden bench. He gestured for Dirk to follow, and against his better logic, he followed.

There was a teenager in the alleyway, his tear streaked face pointed down as another, older man threw verbal assaults at him. It took Dirk a moment for the words to register, but when they did, his blood ran cold.

The kid was trans.

The kid was… like him.

And this guy was not having it.

Vogel had somehow gotten a hold of the weapon that Cross was holding, and he made an odd jeering noise. The man paused, turning to look at the small child barking at him.

And all hell broke loose.

Vogel went absolutely wild, jumping on the back of the man and knocking him to the ground. But he didn't hit him; he hit everything else. The display was terrifying enough to scare him away in a matter of about sixty seconds, leaving the snarling child to shake it off as the threw the wooden stick against the dumpster. The teenager was gone too, but Dirk had seen Cross saying something to him in the softest manner possible.

“Good job, little bird.” Cross was now speaking in a surprisingly springy voice. He moved forward, scooping Vogel up in his arms. “Proud of you little dude.” 

Dirk was in awe. He…

He liked these guys.

“Come on then.” Dirk gestured out to the crowds. “Got some shopping to do.”

Maybe he didn't have all the pieces after all.


	6. Color Me Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rowdies get to know Red as they travel along the road, and Red himself thinks about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are flashbacks!

_Everything was out to get him._

_Svlad knew this was his fault. He'd been mouthing off again during a test, which of course had been a complete failure. They just wouldn't listen to him when he tried to explain that the tests weren't doctored to what he could do. But perhaps he'd mouthed off one too many times, because this punishment wasn't like the others._

_He had been woken in the middle of his allotted time of sleep, the familiar face of Agent Priest smiling down at him. Now, maybe five minutes later, he was being dragged down a hallway. He tried to listen to the probably imposing words that Priest was saying, but it was hard to focus. Between the haze of sleep, the uncertainty of where he was, and the muzzle that was currently around his mouth, he couldn't bring himself to focus on anything._

_The door came out of nowhere, and in another moment the grip on his arm was gone. Svlad felt himself stumble as Priest pushed him forward, the door locking shut after him. What kind of punishment was this exactly?_

_There was a shuffle from the other side of the room, followed by the sound of someone swearing lowly under their breath. Svlad’s head shot up at a speed that made his neck hurt, every nerve on edge as he braced for whatever this was._

_And he made eye contact with them._

_There were three._

_The first one was rather tall, dark hair cropped short in a way that made it look like it had been done by the projects themselves. She looked like a boy, and Svlad honestly wasn't sure if she wasn't. But her eyes held a fire in them, a fury that wasn't directed at him, but rather at Blackwing itself. The second wasn't nearly as tall, but his hair was longer. His eyes weren't on fire, but instead they were dark. He was the most imposing of the three though, not nearly on the same level as the third. The third looked borderline friendly, bright eyes and a soft - a horrified - expression as he stared at Svlad._

_“Well now, boys.” The tallest of the lot said, tipping her head to the side. “Looks like we got a situation.”_

_“Got a name?” Said the one with the dark eyes, his voice oddly springy._

_“He got a guard on, man!” Said the third, reaching over to give a light hit to the second. “No speaking!”_

_“Shit, you're right.”_

_“Gripps. Cross.” The tall one cut them off, holding out his hands. After another moment, she took a few steps forward, kneeling down in front of Svlad. “I'm Martin. I know the name don't match the face, but that's me.”_

_Martin._

_So maybe she - he - wasn't a girl after all. Maybe he was like Svlad._

_“We ain't gonna hurt you, ‘right?” Martin’s voice was low and soft as he stared at Svlad. “You're all good, Little Red.”_

_Svlad stared at him for a long moment. He wasn't scared, not anymore, and he wasn't sceptical. He could feel the pull of the universe, that string connected to his wrists tugging him in the direction of these three. He let his eyes travel up to the cameras in the corner, and he just knew._

_He knew he would be okay._

 

“Well that was just the beginning you see. Thor is, well, personally I think he's very good looking. But much too old for me. There was a fine boy helping us work the case though, and was he just someone I would love to take out for hot chocolate. But maybe not hot chocolate because it stains so badly unless you happen to be wearing black which most of us do except I really love this flannel and-”

Red was sat in the back of a van - a van oh so familiar to him, and yet so unfamiliar. The Rowdies, or these strange people, were listening intently to his story. It put a sharp pain through Red’s chest to watch them all interact; they were carbon, older copies of his family. With a few added members, maybe, but still. His _brothers_. The people who saved him, who kept him safe; who supported him and raised him and gave him a place of belonging. Those people who helped him learn how to swim along the stream of creation, how to read it.

“But I know you all love hot chocolate, so perhaps I can stop spouting my opinion.” Red finished off his speech, taking a deep breath as he leaned against the back doors of the van. There was a start silence for a brief moment, which Red used to pull the goldenrod flannel closer to his chest.

“Yo!” Vogel hit the bottom of the van with his fist, a brilliant smile on his face. “Love hot chocolate!”

“How’d you know?” Interjected Gripps as he pulled out what seemed to be a watermelon poptart.

“The same way I know Amanda speaks sign language.” Red nodded his head. How wouldn’t he know these things? “Honestly, you lot were the ones to teach me to read the universe. Though I suppose not you technically-”

“Read the universe?” Amanda frowned at him. “Like, your holistic stuff?”

“Yes, of course. What else?”

Amanda, now she was strange. Red didn’t know her, and she hadn’t been a Blackwing project like him and his friends. But she fit in so well, a Rowdy to her core; she even came complete with holism of her own. Albeit, Red didn’t know what her abilities were, but he knew she had them.

Reading the universe, reading his hunches, it was simple when he had his friends to help him. As soon as he learned to love what he could do, and not to fear it, it became easy. There was almost a small trickle of water in his head, and it was just a matter of sticking his hands in it. He wasn’t a puppet; he was the puppeteer. The trickle from the stream of creation kept his being damp and filled with words and names he could never place until they all fit together at once, but it was sure easier than not knowing anything at all.

“Well it’s just. Dirk- uh. The other you. He can’t really do that.” Amanda shrugged, an odd look on her face.

Red raised an eyebrow; so his counterpart was having difficulty? “Well perhaps if he had an adequate support system that encouraged his holism as something to be celebrated, instead of how Blackwing teaches us to think perhaps he’d actually be able to.”

Amanda reeled back, her eyes widening at the small bite in Red’s voice. Perhaps they weren’t used to _that_ either. Well, they’d have to get used to it, because Red wasn’t changing his behaviour for anyone. Especially not cheap copies of his friends, whose first word to him was his _project_ name.

“You sure are bitey, little Red.” Came the other Martin’s voice, up by the driver’s seat with the rainbow monster.”How’d you end up like that?”

“You, obviously.” Red mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Travel with Rowdies on the run and you’re bound to catch a bit of snark, aren’t you?’

“‘Pose so.” Martin nodded. There was a rare few moments where no one made a sound, the roar of the engine the only mechanism to break the silence. Red took the few seconds to look at everyone, his heart jumping into his throat. 

Was his fami- his friends. Were they really where Amanda said they were? Red certainly felt the hunch to follow these strange folk, but there was something else. Another hunch. And it told him that he needed to run, and hide.

It chilled him to the bone.

 

**Sender: Agent Marcus**  
**Recipient: Colonel Riggins**

_Project Icarus is showing decreasing signs in mental aptitude the last few weeks. No longer is he just failing his tests, but he shows no desire to participate in basic conversations, as he’s usually hungry for. I would recommend he is given allowance to interact with other Projects, not as a reward, but as a basic necessity for his mental health._

_I might recommend Project Lamia for this procedure, but she is not showing any signs of coming out of her state as a stuffed elephant. Icarus seems to exhibit an interest in Project Incubus, however, and they have not yet been hostile towards him. There might be something worth monitoring between them all. At any rate, it’s worth looking into, lest we lose Icarus as a Project._

_Regards,_  
_Agent Marcus_

 

_Svlad stared at the words on the paper that Riggins had given him, at a loss for words. Mental health, how silly. His mental health was fine. Sure, he was upset constantly, irritable at even Priest; which had resulted in quite a few trips to the hospital wing. But that was the point, he deserved to be hurt like that-_

_Okay. Maybe the email had a point._

_But why did Riggins care? It was Svlad’s fifteenth birthday, and he was stuck in a cell in an underground facility; his only interaction with other people were tests - usually painful - and with Agent Priest, which was even more painful. He didn’t have friends, there were no real parents or guardians to protect or care for him… hell, the only gentle interactions he had had with a living thing in years was the cactus he was allowed to keep on a shelf bolted to the wall. There were no books, no bright colors, no love from anything._

_“What does this have to do with anything?” Svlad took the paper carefully in his hands, holding it out for Riggins to take back._

_“You’ve been having a hard time lately.” Riggins’ expression was soft - a ruse, Svlad knew - and he didn’t move to grab the paper. “So I’ve decided to rework your schedule.”_

_Svlad narrowed his eyes. He didn’t trust this at all, and really, why should he? Riggins was the biggest fallacy and scam of this whole operation. But he just stood there, that soft expression on his face and the gentle tone of his voice._

_What a liar._

_“I’ve added biweekly visits to Project Incubus, and with Lamia, when she decides to come back.”_

_“Mona.” Svlad corrected. “Use her name.”_

_“Mona, then.” Riggins gave a small smile. “But the least you could do for our genoristity is at least try during your tests. Incubus doesn’t seem to hold any holstility to you, so I’ll make you a deal.” Riggins knelt down, sinking to eye level to look at Svlad. “You’re the only one who hasn’t been sent to the hospital wing after contact with Project Incubus. So you spend time with them, get better, and we’ll count your visits as one of your tests, alright?”_

_Svlad stared at him for a long moment._

_Mona? Actual real time with Mona? His best friend?_

_Svlad used to hang around her a lot, back in his early days in this place. She would turn into something small, working her way into his cell where they would play until they were caught. He was only eight back then, though._

_And these other people, the nice ones. The admittedly intimidating ones._

_Svlad felt the hunch return, pulling to them._

_And he nodded._

 

Red stepped out of the van, the grass soft under his feet. His clothes had finally started drying, but it was oddly warm outside. With the van finally stopped, and the other Rowdies all piling out of the van, Red could finally take a moment to breath. He took his shirt by the bottom of the hem, pulling it up over his head until he was standing in binder under the hot sun. After a moment, he felt eyes staring at him; turning to see where they were coming from, he saw Martin looking at him with an odd expression on his face.

“Something the matter?” Red questioned, his voice pitched up in genuine curiosity. Martin stared at him a moment longer, his eyes traveling to the binder on his chest.

“Binder?” Martin grunting, nodding his head the black fabric.

“Oh. Um. Yes. It's Martin’s- um. Your? Old one.” Red was actually a bit taken aback; this version of Martin seemed surprised. “I rather need it or else people will mistake me for a girl.”

“But.” Martin had an expression that was slowly growing more horrified. “If you're-”

“Yo!” Amanda jumped off the top of the van, holding a wad of cash up in the air. “Victory!”

Vogel made a loud whooping sound, hitting the side of the van. “Ice cream now, boss!?”

“Fuck Yeah!” Amanda laughed. “Hey little red dude, you like ice cream!?”

“Of course.” Red frowned. Who didn't like ice cream? That was just an absurd thing to ask. “Are we not just taking the ice cream?”

“Nah. We're gonna pay.” Amanda shook her head. “Come on. Before I eat it all.”

“Of course. Of course. Yes. Coming.” Red rolled his eyes.

He pulled his flannel off the ground, making sure to throw it in the open window of the van. It would still be there when he got back. He took a moment to lean against the van, letting the grief of not having his family engulf him for a moment.

His family. No. No of course not. They were just his friends; no one would ever consider him family. It was stupid to even think. Red glanced at himself in the reflection of the window-

And stopped dead.

His heart skipped a beat.

There, laying in the middle of the street, was a single canister of gas, discarded.

Red fell to his knees.

Blackwing was here. And they were still chasing him. And they were _close._


	7. White Picket Fence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priest and his crew land on a road in the middle of nowehere after going through the portal, and come across a typical, suburban family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Violence/Murder, Murder of children

**A Few Hours Earlier...**

 

“Oh, they're hurt-”

“How did they get-”

“Dad! I have the first aid-”

“I wanna go home.”

Osmund could hear a flutter of activity around him as he began to fade into consciousness. The sounds of children, of the ponunding of feet on asphalt, reached his ears; cries of worry; a car door slamming. A cold hand appeared on Osmund’s neck, checking for a pulse.

Osmund smiled.

What funny little people.

“Oh gosh, he's awake.” Came the voice of a man above his head “Sir? Sir? Are you-”

“A-Okay.” Osmund found his voice to be tough and grating, his throat giving a horrible scratch as he tried to use it. He cracked his eyes open, finding a blinding sun and the barely visible face of a middle aged man in front of him.

“Sir, you, fell. Into the way of our car.” The man leaned back a bit, giving Osmund room. “You all did. Your friends too. They seem to be okay, but we didn't get you to wake up until just now.”

Priest turned his head to the side, and he spotted the familiar dark complex of Missouri, wrapped in a blanket with Donatello. There was a small child next to them, yapping her mouth off with that incessant, high pitched voice that all children had. She couldn't have been more than eight at the most.

Oh, wouldn't that be fun.

“Hey.” The man waved a but, trying to get Osmund’s attention. “I'm Deacon, I said. You?”

“Osmund.” Osmund reached into his pocket, and flipped out his badge to shoe the man. “Special Agent Priest, Blackwing Division. I’mma just need to take your car.”

“What-”

Priest lunged forward, his fist connecting with Deacon’s nose. The man fell backwards on the empty road, and there was a gasp.

“Deacon!” A woman said, rushing forward to help. Priest held up a hand; he had snatched a fallen pocket knife from Deacon’s pocket, and now he was waving it threateningly. 

“Leah, wait-” Said Deacon, trying to shake his head.

But it was too late. Missouri had noticed Priest's actions, and like a good little puppet she had jumped up to help. The woman - probably the wife, or Leah - fell to her knees, her eyes clouded with the temporary blindness that Missouri was capable of causing.

“Mom?”

“Mom!”

The voices of two children cried out, before they too fell to their feet. Taking a look, Priest saw the same little girl from before, this time accompanied by a teenager. She must have been maybe seventeen, perhaps even eighteen.

Young, but old enough to know the horrors of death. That was all that mattered.

“No talkin’ now. Don't speak ‘bout this and we'll be on our way.” Priest said as he rose to his feet. He turned in a circle, watching as his crew rushed to hold the three older family members in place. They at least were smart enough to follow such a simple, unspoken command.

They didn't bother holding down the youngest though, the little girl that the teenager was whispering to. Priest heard the name _Amber,_ and tipped his head to the side.

The little girl - Amber - whispered back the name _Felix._

Oh sweet children, comforting each other in their last moments. Because of course, Priest was lying. He was going to kill every single one of them, and he was going to have a merry old time doing so.

He didn't have to. All he needed was the car. The scattered remains of the equipment they had been sent through the portal. He needed a car to transport it, and to get to where they wanted to be. And it just so happened that this family.

So what if they died? That was the fun of it.

“So.” Osmund started, making a false move to car. “I'll just-”

“You can't! Please!”

Osmund froze, and he gave a happy little sigh.

So typical, so wonderful. Stupid little man.

Osmund had a wide, empty smile on his face as he took a tight grip on the pocket knife. It wasn't nearly as strong or sharp as Osmund would have liked, but he wasn't going to get out his own weapons. No, not at so. There was a special kind of horror that Priest loved, watching the terror as people realized they were about to be killed by the very weapons they had purchased to protect themselves. Priest glanced back at Deacon, his greying hair and his quivering lip.

“Now.” Priest said, twirling the knife. “I said No talkin’.”

Priest made a quick, snapping movement with his wrist, and the knife jammed into Deacon’s cheek. There was a gutteral screech from his throat, but Missouri was doing her job to keep him in place. Priest watched the blood sprout from the wound, both inside and outside his mouth.

He tried not to laugh at the way his tongue kept getting caught on the blade now stuck inside his mouth, but he couldn't help himself; this was too much fun. Priest backed onto his feet, the giggle in his throat must having seemed like a cruel horror.

“Now, I don't wanna go gaggin’ ‘ya, ‘cause I do enjoy a good scream.” Priest grinned at him, pointing. “So you just stay there now.”

Priest turned on his heels, and his eyes landed on the youngest child. Amber. What a stupid name. Priest wanted to spend forever on this, to listen to their screams and hear their begging. But he could already feel the familiar tug of the universe, telling him where he needed to go, and when, if he wanted to find the escaped projects.

Oh, if only the universe knew it wasn't actually helping. If only it knew that Osmund had been tricking it for decades.

Priest sighed as he reached into his utility belt; this child wasn't old enough to feel the horror that Priest wanted at the moment. So this knife would do. It was long and serrated, a special commission that Osmund had been given specially for torturing escaped projects. It was his prized possession, one he had used on his sister multiple times. Osmund took a knee in front of Amber, softening his eyes as he reached out to move her hair out of his face.

“Well heya Amber. That's your name, ain't it?” Osmund said, a soft voice to match his expression. The child glanced up at him, staring through her eyelashes with hot, bubbling terror as she nodded.

Osmund gave a smile.

“Well.” Osmund said. “I'm Mr. Prie-”

“Fuck off from her!” The cry of the teenager, Felix, rang across the road. Priest sighed, throwing his head back. Dumbass kids, ruining his fun.

“Now, liste-” Priest was hit by something large and hot squarely in his chest, scorching his shirt as he fell onto the asphalt with a hard thump. The next second was accompanied by the cock of a gun, and a loud shot echoed in Priest's ears.

The mother screamed.

Priest raised his head, the world around him taking loops as his head spun. He could vaguely register the burned fabric on his chest, and the hot, tangy smell of blood in the air. He blinked once, and then again, and then he noticed Felix laying on the side of the road by Donetello.

Felix’s mouth was just slightly agape as she laid there, and for moment everything seemed to be okay. But then Osmund saw the gaping hole in her head; the red splatters spread out next to her on the cracks of the asphalt and the grass. The blood was dripping slowly from her mouth, leaking out of the gouge in her skull.

Osmund took a deep breath in; that was beautiful. 

“Sir. Sorry sir.” Donetello’s voice was trembling, his gun in his hand accompanied by tears in his eyes. “I'm so sorry. She. She, she threw. Fire. At you. She must have been holistic. I'm sorry, I-”

Priest raised his hand to silence Donetello, a calm expression on his face as he turned his eyes to the crying man.

“I'm proud of you, Marcus.” Osmund had the soft tone to his voice again, and he even smiled. Albeit, the smile was much more maniac this time. “Feels good, don't it?”

“I-”

“You'll make somethin’ yet, boy.”

Osmund turned back to face Amber, who had tears streaming down her face as she stared at her sister in shock.

This was taking too long. They needed to get this show on the road.

“Hey Amber.” Priest said, lowering down a bit to match her height. “Wanna see something  
‘ cool?”

Amber turned, and Priest took the opportunity to drive the knife straight into her eye; the blade was long enough to reach her brain. The screams that filled the air were barely human, and it pulled raucous laughter from Priest's throat as he watched the girl fell back. There were more screams from both the mother and father seated behind him, and when he breathed, it was like taking a breath of fresh air. He had been rejuvenated. He crouched forward, pulling the knife from the limp girl’s skull with a hard pull. There was moment of peace, which he took to wipe the blood on the black, scorched shirt he was wearing, letting some of it get onto his bulletproof vest underneath.

“Sanchez. Missouri. Kill the parents.” Priest said in his usual southern drawl as he took a step onto his feet. “Donetello. Come with me to pack our stuff into our new little vehicle.”

Donetello gave a nervous hiccup, nodding as he scurried over to follow Priest. He saw the nasty look that Sanchez threw at him, and he had half a mind to stab her in her eye too. But he turned his gaze away, moving to the scattered bags and belongings that were the property of Blackwing on the road. Guns, knives, some money; zipties and rope, muzzles for the projects when they were found. It was rather basic equipment, but they didn't have the funds to get more.

“You did good, Marcus.” Priest drawled, eyeing the man as he picked up a rifle. “Stop your cryin’.”

“I killed a kid, Sir.” Marcus mumbled, throwing the rifle into the open truck. “A child. I murdered a child.”

“A thing. You put down a _dangerous, thing._ ” Priest said, giving a pointed glare at him. “People like that, with those abilities, they ain't worth the air.”

“But.” Donetello shook his head. “But Cécire-”

“I said what I said.” Priest set his voice, throwing a glare that silenced Donetello in seconds. He took a step back, dropping the canister of gas in his hands. “Missouri will get her dues in time. They all will.”

Priest closed his eyes as he finally heard two gunshots go off, the cries from the sobbing parents finally silencing. Osmund reveled in the silence, almost mourning the loss of a good ‘friend' to maim. Oh, he loved tge looks on their faces when he _sliced_ into them like a heated knife through butter. He should try actually heating the knife up sometime…

Priest shook his head. He didn't have time for this. He needed to find the projects.

And right now, the universe was taking him North.


	8. Mi Amore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the case is over, and Todd and Dirk share a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my sort of beta readers Mars and Robbie. They don't really beta read so much as suffer as they read the WIPs of the chapters.

Dirk was late.

The moon has risen about an hour ago; he'd simply gotten too caught up or notice the time. Vogel - little Vogel - had dragged him and Cross all through Target, and somehow stolen every single article of Pride clothing they had. In fact, all of their clothes were a bit messed up. Vogel was decked out in rainbows, Cross had a large floppy hat on, and Dirk had somehow gotten Cross’ jacket while Vogel wore his.

He had never had _fun_ with any of the Rowdies before, and he wasn't about to admit that that was what happened either.

But now, all was silent.

The Rowdies were all sleeping in a pile in the waiting room of the agency, where Farah had pulled out spare blankets and pillows that they all used during tiresome work days. Dirk had narrowly managed to avoid being pulled in the pile himself; as soon as he said it made his claustrophobic - which it did - the Young Rowdies backed off and told him to get some decent rest.

The Young Rowdies, as Dirk had dubbed them, were so very strange in his eyes. He'd even come up with nicknames for them all, just for the sake of his sanity on this case.

Some names were easy. Vogel had dubbed himself Jacob, stating very clearly that this was the only time they were ever allowed to call him that, so that's just who he was. Martin was just Marty, which was almost weird to call him. This was Martin after all, and Martin and Dirk had never had a very good relationship with each other. Cross had expressed strong sentiment in being called _Crow_ , which, to all their own.

Gripps had chosen _Gripped_ , and he was sticking with it.

“I'm past. Past person, past tense.” Gripps - Gripped, had said with a solemn nod. He raised a watermelon poptart to his mouth, taking a bite without breaking eye contact.

“That makes sense.” Chimed in Cross - Crow.

Dirk was now hunched against a door frame, standing in the darn in a door next to his desk. He never really used the desk except to store candy, but he had it nonetheless. His eyes flitted in the darkness, checking for intruders; once he was sure he was alone, he moved to the mirror. In the moonlight, he looked like a pale ghost, an unearthly glow on his skin as he stared.

Unearthly; go figure. He'd always felt he was _wrong_ as a person.

Always in the wrong skin.

Dirk took the hem of the worn leather jacket that belonged to Cross, and let it fall onto the surface of his desk. He had another go, then, undoing his the before grabbing the cheap buttons on his shirt to undo them.

He never, ever looked in the mirror.

Dirk Gently stared.

It had been a gift from a sponsor of one of his cases, only a few years ago. He'd been in England at the time, so no one around here could have known. They couldn't have known the way his client was eternally grateful for getting rid of the alien spirits in their home, how they offered something irreplaceable. They didn't know about the way Dirk woke up in a hospital - an actual hospital - only a few weeks later, and when he looked down at himself, he knew that everything in his life might be alright. They didn't see how he'd went to burn every single binder that he had, only to hand them off to a teenager he'd met indeed.

They had never seen the scars.

They were faded now, but still prominent, as he was and always had been deathly pale. The ran across his chest on either side, marking where the literal _bane_ of his existence had been. But they also marked freedom.

“Dirk?”

Dirk's stomach dropped.

He let his eyes travel to the left, where in the mirror he could see Todd standing in the doorway, a sheepish and guilty look dancing about his face. Dirk turned on his feet, his eyes wide in a panic. His gaze met Todd’s, and Dirk’s breath hitched.

“Sorry.” Todd said, his gaze breaking away to stare at the ground. “I just, didn't know where you were.”

“Todd-”

“I don't mind. Seriously.” Todd took a step forward, flattening his palms as he held them up. He even put a small, sad smile on his face. “It's cool, man. It doesn't like, change shit. You're still weird.”

“I am.” Dirk nodded, still standing frozen as a ruler. “Change, change what?”

“Change…” Todd caught uo with his words, and Dirk could see his ears heat up in the darkness. “Just. Just us. As friends. Best friends.”

“The best.” Dirk agreed, taking a slow nod.

Just friends.

Dirk wasn't sure what he wanted with Todd, but he knew he enjoyed his company. He loved the stupid things he would say, and that insane smile; the absolute disposition for knocking someone out. He wanted to spend all his time around him, though Dirk doubted that Todd did very much at all. But it was nothing, just normal friendship.

So, why did that make Dirk so sad?

“I should have told you.” 

Dirk’s hands ran over the scars on his chest; or rather, the scars from his surgery. Because there were other scars there, with darker histories that kept Dirk up at night. He could never escape it. They ran up and down his body, accompanied by limbs in strange angles and patches of skin with dead nerves. The biggest one ran from the top of his stomach down to near his naval area, smack in the middle. It was where they, Blackwing, had opened him up, after tying him down.

An intake procedure, they'd said. Cataloguing.

Sickening.

Todd had gotten closer without Dirk even noticing, and now he was standing right in front of him, his fingers brushing along the scars Dirk was rubbing. The moonlight fell across his face, but instead of becoming inhuman, he was glowing with the best parts humanity had to offer. Dirk watched his closely, his eyes flitting under his eyelashes up at him. The way he moved, the smell of that cheap shampoo he refused to replace…

Yes, Dirk definitely wanted something more.

In the last moment before Dirk decided to lean in, to do _something,_ Todd pulled back. He hand ran down Dirk’s side, brushing across his arm to take a light hold on his wrist.

He flipped it, and in the pale moonlight, they could both see the ink on his skin. His brand, that marked him as property of Blackwing.

Project Icarus.

“It doesn't matter, how, you got to be you.” Todd said, his eyes lingering on the mark. “Because you're, pretty cool. And I think, it might suck, if you weren't you.”

“I'm not, really that great, Todd.” Dirk lowered his head, expelling any thoughts he could about even the possibility of anything between them. 

“You are, man. You're- you're cool.” Todd let go of his wrist, and reached up to touch his shoulder.

His hand was stayed for a moment as he laid it there, and Todd and Dirk’s eyes both flickered up to meet the other’s gaze. Dirk could hear the pounding of his own heart like an incessant drumbeat, his breathing hitched and time standing still. Todd opened his mouth, hesitant in whatever he was about to say.

“Dirk, I-”

“You two need to sleep.”

Farah’s voice came from the doorway, and the moment was broken. Todd pulled away, and Dirk took a step to the side as he tried to calm the heat in his face. Farah just rolled her eyes, a crooked smile pulling at her lips as she shook her head.

“When you two gays are done, get some sleep. It's three in the morning, and it's been a long day.” Farah let out a silent laugh, and Dirk’s heart stopped. “Guys. I meant guys.”

It was almost ironic; Dirk knew for a fact he wasn't straight. He was as gay as the fourth of July. Did they not know that?

But it didn't matter.

“Right.” Dirk was back in his rhythm. He grabbed his shirt from the desk, and was already on his way out before he'd gotten his arm though. “Well. Big day tomorrow. Very big. Extraordinary big. So. Must, go.”

Dirk didn't let the confused protests stop him, and he didn't stop walking either. His face was still beet red, and he needed to hide it.

He was so stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this when it's completed, this is me telling you to take a break and drink some water.


	9. The Curtain Closes Over Act One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monster awakens

**New Mexico, USA**

“Agent Priest!”

A voice calls down the hallway, stern and urgent as the man to whom it belongs stalks down the facility. He holds a tablet in his hands, his knuckles pale with the force he has his grip on it. He reaches out his hand, and the door at the end of the hallway is pushed open.

“Woah now!” Another man rushed to his wall, where he grabs a towel to wrap around his body. The show behind him is still running, his blonde hair dripping onto his face. 

“Priest-” Starts the man, but the Agent interrupts.

“Now Ken, what is the meanin’ of this?” The agent says. His tone suggests annoyance, but a smile is playing on his face. “I know you get thirsty in the middle of the night, but this is ridiculous.”

“There's been an anomaly, Agent Priest.” Says the one named Ken, an urgency never before seen dancing across his eyes. “It's a big one.”

“Well there, little baby.” The agent takes a step forward. He reached out a hand, and carefully takes Ken's. The smile on his face has turned to that of a child's nightmare, the monster only dreamt of in every detail of his demeanor. “Let's go and see this anomaly.”

Agent Priest is the monster to haunt every last child of the universe, of this world or not.


	10. Late Night Snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rowdies continue on their drive to bring Red to the agency, and stop for a snack along the way.

_Date: May 11th_  
_Incident Report: Project Icarus (Aged 15 y/o) and Project Lamia (Aged 14 y/o) spent an hour together for further evaluation on their relationship. Upon extraction of Icarus, Lamia became distressed. They have refused since to activate their shapeshifting abilities. More to be updated as it happens._

 

_“Mona?”_

_Silence._

_“Mona?”_

_Not a word._

_“Mona, please.”_

_Svlad sighed, rubbing his fingers along the course fabric of his jumpsuit. He had hit another growth spurt; it wouldn’t be long before he grew out of his clothes and needed new ones again. Although, with the growing tension between him and Agent Priest, it was unsure if he’d get new clothes at all. He was just so… on edge, as of late. The malicious hunger for pain in his eyes grew with each passing day, as did his capacity to hurt. He was never satisfied._

_And Svlad still couldn’t pass his tests._

_Svlad’s eyes went to the camera in the corner, the knowledge that he was being watched burning a hole straight through his chest. So he turned back to his friend, sitting on the table in a corner, and opted to ignore what was surely another group of scientists taking endless notes._

_Would he always be trapped like this?_

_“Mona, won’t you come out?” Svlad took a step forward, his gaze fixed on the toy hammer on the table. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Mister Riggins says I can visit more, if you’d come back.”_

_The toy hammer sat there as he spoke, not moving an inch, as inanimate toys should._

_“Mona?”_

_Nothing._

_“Mona, please.” Svlad knelt down on one knee, staring at the toy in front of him. In a hushed voice, he pleaded, he begged, for Mona to come out. The shadows were eating at him, he said, looming and threatening to swallow him up._

_Though, to be fair, they always did that._

_His hand reached forward on it’s own accord, thinking that perhaps he could convince Mona to come out. But his hand was stilled, a cold grip halting his wrist in it's movement. Svald’s eyes followed the arm holding him, and his heart froze._

_Osmund Priest smiled at him._

~~~

Red started to scream.

Shadows assaulted his mind as they came out from the corners; agents, they were agents, come to take him away. He threw his arms over his face to hide and protect it, waiting for a blow, or perhaps that awful knockout gas they used. But neither came. Instead, there were soft hands on his wrists, guiding his hands away. Concerned faces came into view, and Red’s breath caught for a moment as he recognized them.

But the relief only lasted for a few moments.

These people weren’t his family. Just older, carbon copies with a few extra members.

“Heya man.” Gripps, that was Gripps. “Shush the panic.”

“No bad Blackwing here.” And there was Cross, pushing hair out of Red’s eyes. 

And Red, in his panic-induced haze, leaned into the touch. There was no energy, or time, for Red to pretend to be touch or unflinching all the time. At his core, he was nothing but a child. A scared, lonely sort of kid, on the run from a tyrannical government intent on hurting him, trying to make a family out of strangers. And it had been working pretty well, Red thought to himself, until they’d come here, and been separated. Maybe these fold here weren’t so bad.

There was a groggy gurgling sound from one of the corners, and Amanda’s voice sprung into existence in the dark van. “What’s we doing?”

“Shh, Drummer.” Gripps turned to look at her; there was a soft smile on his face. “Just go be sleeping. We got it.”

“Mmkay.” And Amanda was off again in mere seconds.

“What’s up, Red?” Martin’s eyes appeared in the front mirror, looking at what was surely Red’s disheveled form. “You good?”

“A-” Why was Red so terribly rude to them? They really were trying to help him, he could feel it in his bones. “Yes, I’m alright. I’ve just had a nightmare.”

“You wanna tell us? Or you want music?”

“It was about Mr. Priest.”

Red watched Martin’s eyes grow dark, his knuckles whitening over the steering wheel and his voie going silent. Red knew why, of course, but he wasn’t sure if this world’s Martin had shared that information with these Rowdies yet. So he kept his mouth shut, listening to the humming of the van as it traveled down a dark road.

And that begged the question, what time was it? Even the streetlamps outside the windows seemed dim, and the world itself was buffering. Red climbed forward, clinging to Gripps so he wouldn't fall, and got a better look out the window. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, save for the edge of a town in the far distance. Every light in the buildings were off, save for the occasional bedroom window of a night owl. It was very early morning, that little voice in Dirk's head told him, maybe two. And that voice kept talking, smacking him upside the head with a dumb little hunch.

There was something close by.

Red always had a feeling of being close to something important; it was a constant feed stream of input with no outcome, and it lead to a boy who was always becoming far too overwhelmed. 

The first time Red every felt that was was when his mother and him had been visited by two men in uniform. Riggins, the man had introduced himself as, had had a kind smile and a quiet voice. And the other one, _Priest_ , hadn't been rude.

He hadn't seemed evil.

He hadn't seemed like a sociopath.

He had seemed to be gentle.

Red of course had been terrified at the thought of strangers in his home, so Mr. Priest had taken him into the other room to collect himself. Red had sat on the couch, pulling close a pet that he could no longer remember, and Mr. Priest had told him stories in a soft tone. And it worked; it had calmed Red down.

Mr. Priest was a goddamned bastard.

Red’s fingers were brushing over his wrist before he was thinking, the familiar bump of rough, raised skin. He could recognize the shape of that tattoo - the brand - even in the dark. It was fading with time, and he suspected that it may have gone completely by the time he was an adult. But he wasn't sure how old he was, probably still just a teenager; for now, the brand stayed. It stayed in that familiar shape, the one that marked him as _Icarus._

Project Icarus.

Project Incubus.

And Project Lamia.

Red pulled the flannel around his back ever closer then, humming as he watched trees blow past. That hunch was becoming stronger, beginning to eat at the back of his mind. He didn't want to think about it, and instead tried to distract himself.

Amanda was indeed in the corner, fast asleep in comfortable bliss and rocked to sleep by the repeated swaying of the vehicle. Vogel - this Vogel was so old, Red was almost proud. Vogel was his friend after all, and he may have let the words _little brother_ slip once or twice. Vogel was laying across Amanda’s middle, clinging both to her and to the rainbow monster. It seemed as if Gripps had been in the pile too, but Red couldn't find a place where Cross could have been. He must have been in the middle of their space in the back, closer to where Red had been laying.

That was what put a dent in Red’s wall. There wasn't any need for these people to care about him in any way, but Red knew that Cross had been sleeping there in case Red had had a nightmare. And Cross was right to do so, because noe both him and Gripps were holding the boy, keeping him comfortable and letting him know he was safe in the aftermath of a dream about Osmund Priest.

It was exactly something his family-

His friends.

It was exactly something his friends would do.

“I'm a bit hungry.” Red was whispering, but even that seemed too loud. “Is there perhaps something to eat?”

“Nah.” Martin's voice was, thankfully, back to normal. “But here.”

And the van started to slow, pulling off to the side. Red noticed lights out the window, and he recognized the familiar shape of a gas station. Gas stations always have unhealthy little snacks for sale, and it was perfect for a midnight craving. Martin pulled the van to a stop just outside, and the orange, artificial light poured into the van; Red had to squint.

“Here.” Martin nodded at Gripps, pulling his own car door open and making room for Gripps to take the Driver’s seat. “C’mon, Red. Drummer and Beast need food in a few hours anyhow.”

Red scrambled out into the chilled nighttime air, and when he looked up, all he could see were stars. He felt the hem of his flannel flutter in a light breeze, as if there was something important it wanted to say, but it in fact was a flannel, and couldn't speak. Red smiled at the thought, and with a glance at the van - that wonderful van - he followed Martin into the corner store.

The cashier was half asleep at the counter, only sparing the two a halfhearted glance as the bell above the front door rang. Martin gave him a solemn nod, not unlike the one he had given Gripps, and then turned to Red.

“Now you just grab whatever now.” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I got ya.”

Red found himself in the candy aisle, surprised by his late night daring. He usually stuck to an energy drink, and maybe a bag of chips. But he had this odd, almost awful feeling starting to form in his gut, and being so lethargic was putting him on edge. In the end, he pulled down a bag of gummy worms, jelly beans, a few Babe Ruths, and a packet of skittles.

And he moved on. 

He of course ended up with an energy drink, but as he got to where they were stacked, he stopped. He stared at all the different flavors, many that he hadn't heard of before. And his eyes went up to the high tech camera in the top corner of the store, then to the phone in the cashier’s hand. 

It hit him then that he really was in a different time.

This wasn't 2003. This was _2018._ This was… completely new to him, in a way that he didn't like at all. It was a strange sensation to be displaced in time, and it was finally weighing on him just how serious this situation was. He wouldn't even be able to do anything until he got to his friends, and then what? 

What if they couldn't leave? What if they were stuck in this year, in this universe, forever? This unfamiliar place with it’s vaguely futuristic customs and technology, with duplicates of themselves already living here with established lives. They couldn't just intrude, and they didn't have their van, so where would they go? They could stay in America, which was the most logical option. Red, of course, technically had citizenship in Britain and Romania, but he also didn't exist in this universe.

They were all wayward runways, hiding from the American government.

But none of this was very important.

Red grabbed the first energy drink he saw, pulling it down and moving right along. He grabbed a bag of chips, and decided he was done, so he found Martin - something that was easy to do. A six foot tall punk wasn't difficult to spot. Martin threw his own findings onto the counter along with Red’s, and stared at the cashier.

“Should your son be out this late?” The cashier had a monotone voice, his tired eyes looking between Martin and Red. “Don't, you have school?”

“School?” Red had never even finished Year 6.

“Road trip.” Martin’s resolve didn't waver, and in fact he smiled at the man ringing up their purchases. “Vistin’ family.”

The most amazing part was, Martin wasn't lying. Except for the family part. The guys were _totally_ just friends. 

Right?

“I feel that.” The cashier nodded. “Well, it's, one thirty in the morning. You better go get to a motel.”

“We will. We thank you kindly, too.”

Red hummed; this conversation. Was beyond boring. He started to drift - his attention and his actual physical being - and ended up by the window. Lights of a city asleep met his eyes, twinkling silently in the dark sky. Seattle was close, maybe a few hours more. But it was true that they needed to sleep. _All_ of them, including Martin. A motel wasn't likely, but they'd probably park somewhere and fall asleep there.

That's when Red saw it.

It was a quick flash of the eye, nothing that anyone else would notice. But Red, he saw it. The car was dark and fast on it's wheels as it passed, part of all the other traffic. But a head inside turned, and met eyes with Red right before the car passed in front of a building and disappeared.

Donatello.

It was Priest and his crew.

Red grabbed Martin's wrist, sending a wave of confusion through the man who had just been walking up to tell Red they were ready to leave. Red pulled him forward with a force previously undiscovered, dragging him towards the van in a panicked haze.

“Red? Red.” Martin pulled them both to a stop, a concerned frown on his face. “Red, what's up now?”

“It's Priest.” Red whispered, and the color drained from both of their faces. “He's found me.”

He had come through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins
> 
> And look! I'm not dead!


End file.
